As I’m writhing under the crimson-lit, leather furnished room, his eyes never leave my face. Although my glance is cast downward, I know that he is smiling and I sense his contentment. I don’t bother to hide my smirk, as I lower my lips to his neck, and deliberately graze them across the wiry brush of his beard. My knees are at either side of his waist, and I wind my waist around until I press against the bulge in his pants. He exhales against my cheek.
The last week when he visited, I giggled quietly to myself as he fucked me from behind, out of sight and sound of the other customers, staff and my coworkers. Tonight we are in the smaller, more visible private-dance room. The gauze-like curtain does little to hide our activities tonight, and so I will maintain my professionalism. Peripherally, I can see a bachelor party gawking from the couches adjacent to us.
The thumping rhythm comes to an end, and with the sound of DJ Robert’s voice, I loudly sigh and plop back in to the chair. My husband closes his eyes, and takes a breath, before reaching for his beer.
“Well, thank you Penguin,” he says to me, as he reaches in to his pocket and passes money to my outstretched hands. I daintily take it, and tuck it into my waist cincher as I bend to kiss him on the cheek. He knows the drill. Apparently he is also aware of the couch-gawkers. The bills are singles rather than twenties, but it is of no matter; I’ll surely just use them to buy us coffee in the morning.
I stand to give him a hug, as I do most of my well-paying customers. I step from the room, smiling, keeping my gaze level with the crowd, and hold the curtain open for him. My beautiful, bearded man returns to the bar, and I head to the bachelor couch.
Smiling bigger than I mean to, I greet them. “Well, hello, gentlemen. I couldn’t help but notice you watching. So…who’s next?”
I feel victorious when the group of four points to the man of their evening, the bachelor.
The night had been steady, but I needed a bump in business. Luckily, my husband is also a shrewd marketing mind, and understands my various hustles. Although the bachelor will not be the recipient of the same kind of intimate (or illegal) private dance, for the next song, he and his money are mine, and I will treat him well enough for him to be happy.
My husband met me at this club, when I was a fresh-faced-naïve-newbie dancer of only a few weeks. At the time, I was mostly relegated to the dismal day shifts, and was thrilled to be scheduled to the work the Tuesday evening of July 4th, 2009. (At the time I felt that the owner had taken notice of me, but most likely it was because so many other girls had called out.) That summer night, he and his corporate team would venture in to my club, the Lucky Devil Lounge, in Portland, Oregon. It was post work meeting, and the men were no strangers to strip clubs.
The night passed without incident. I was too overwhelmed with the newness of nude dancing to recall specific details, but he later told me that he asked my name, then later that week, looked up my schedule on the club’s website. He began coming to see me, alone. He later told me it was love at first sight, especially when I danced to “Straight to Hell” by the Clash, with bandanas tied around my ballet slippers.
Almost three years later, we live together, happily married and living in a house in Portland. His nine to five day job contrasts starkly with my nine to three a.m night shifts, and we find humor in the fact that he has a powerful position in a household name corporation, yet I’m an entertainer in the adult industry. We have our own interests and hobbies, but are able to exercise together, share in housework and chores, and train in martial art together. We share a plethora of matching tattoos. Our two dogs wrestle and play like siblings, and as I type this, I feel the kicks and stretches of our first child inside me; I am 38 weeks pregnant with a daughter.
Despite all of our accomplishments as a couple, I can’t wait to return to the pole and the stage, and he couldn’t be happier for me. It frustrates me when I see my peeling peers struggling with dating dilemmas, especially when they find themselves coupled with partners who resent their decision to strip. I feel fortunate to have found a partner who not only understands my drive to be successful but that also takes pride in the passion I have for stripping. Although ours is not the most conventional love story, it certainly seems to be working for us.